


Divided

by Polarbaroness (MaryTheMango)



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Multi, Other, they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:22:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryTheMango/pseuds/Polarbaroness
Summary: Written for some people on tumblr.Alex thinks they have one soul mate. They have four.





	Divided

**Author's Note:**

> Look
> 
> I know soulmate au has been beaten into the ground but I have been working on this for a while and wanted to at least publish the first part. Each chapter after is gonna be the individual soulmate meetings, planned alternate povs, etc. 
> 
> I don't know how to write emotions so have this bumbling attempt and feel pity.
> 
> This is unbetad and barely read through a second time. There will be problems with tenses. Feel free to rewrite it and send it to me if it bothers you, I'll give you credit. ;)

They never wanted anything to do with soulmates.

The whole concept to them was tainted, ruined by their upbringing in a cult that glorified them to the extent that they’d mutilate their children to make their soulmate apparent.

Despite the fact Alex had rough patches up and down the right side of their body- a particularly lucky soulmate, they’d laughed- they were no exception.

They’d run away shortly after their 12th birthday, just too late to avoid the ritualistic scarification that left them with a cross-like symbol embedded into their forearm. (Every one’s a little bit different, Alex! Isn’t it so nice? You’ll be able to find your other Half, just as God intended!)

They’d wanted to say sorry somehow, apologize for the pain they’d doubtlessly caused the other, curled up over the still bleeding eight pointed cross and petting it gently as if to stop the pain as they wandered the streets of Missoula til some good Samaritan found them, rightly exclaimed what the fuck, and took them to the police station.

Alex shared their story with the police, who’d looked more and more horrified with each word. They couldn’t remember much else after that, besides the reassurances that the cult would be taken down, and they’d be safe.

They were adopted quickly- Missoula loved a sob story, it seemed-, and it seemed the promise would be fulfilled. They were well protected, enrolled in a proper school, given as normal a childhood as one could get post cult. Their new parents even let them wear makeup, concealing the horrific scarring they used to trace before bed, comfort to a mysterious soulmate whose burdens they shared.

Of course, nothing could protect them from the pains their soulmates would experience.

They woke screaming one night, blood pouring from them shoulder as words carved their way into them skin. Their new parents had rushed into the room, comforting them as well as they could before rushing them off to the hospital.  
Pride was the first word they’d gotten. The other six sins followed after. (Lust came when they were 16,erupting over their stomach during prom. It was the most memorable event in their high school's history, they’d be the talk of the town for years to come.)

The only conclusion they could make was that their soulmate, too, was part of a cult. At first, in their younger years, they’d wanted to rescue them.

Then, when they’d gotten older and the cuts kept reopening, they just wanted it all to stop.

In college they’d majored in psychology, plodding along to their end goal as a cult buster. Track marks appeared on their forearm, started messy but soon became the practiced stabs of an addict. (they secretly hoped whoever it was would die from an overdose- it’d stop the pain, at least for a little bit.)

Then, the track marks stopped appearing, they graduated college, then police academy, and the next thing they knew they were being recruited by Sheriff Whitehorse in Hope County, Montana about missing people and a mysterious cult. They had to laugh- nothing better to do in Montana than start a cult, it seemed. 

They’d accepted the job and moved out, rented a room in someone’s house and everything; even bought some furniture from the antique store (they’d tried to use an inflatable mattress, but their spine complained it was far too old for this shit and they’d had to spring for actual springs.)

During their morning coffee run, they’d mozied into the sheriff’s office and picked up their orders, a shiny new uniform, and a badge. The gun, Sheriff Whitehorse had said with a wink, would come later.

The contents of the plain manila envelope turned their stomach, forcing their meager breakfast right out the way it came.

On the paper, inked in bold black ink, was the very symbol they’d had carved into them years ago. 

Alex tugged at their sleeve nervously, considering their options. They couldn’t just quit- they’d signed a contract. Chickening out so early would leave them undesirable for future hires, even if they mentioned the extenuating circumstances. They still had a shit load of debt under their belt, student loans piling on the interest, and moving out had drained the last of their (safely) expendable income. As it were, they’d be living on ramen for the foreseeable future.

They were stuck.

Ok, they rallied, you can do this. Just wear your clown makeup, seal it nice and tight, and keep your clothes on at all times. Stupid fuckin paint doesn’t come off without serious elbow grease, you’ll be fine. Just...keep cool.

 

They’d gone over circumstances similar in the academy- people would try to rescue their soulmates from the cult and either end up joining or six feet under. 

They didn’t particularly care for either option, and figured they were a special case. Most people wanted their soulmates, wanted to be loved.  
they...well, they wouldn’t say they didn’t want to be loved, but they were jaded on the whole soulmate thing. Their soulmate had known they existed and still hurt them, still reopened their shared wounds. Anyone who could do something like that to someone else wasn’t a person they’d even consider being around, much less loving. (What did it say about them, that this was the other half of their soul? Could they hurt someone as easily, justify it as right?...Were they doing it right now?)

They had no doubt they could stay professional- how hard could it be to arrest one person?

\----------

Really fucking hard, it turned out.

Their very first mission, two weeks into this fucking job, and they were hanging upside down in a flaming helicopter, watching their coworkers helplessly as they were dragged away to parts unknown.  
One of the Cultists had thrown himself into the helicopter blades, sending the copter into a downward spiral- something that didn’t seem to even phase the man next to them, humming Amazing Grace as the fire rose hire.  
“I told you God wouldn’t let you take me..” He whispered, eyes roaming over their face- they returned the favor,peering through yellow glasses to pale eyes. His face wasn’t horrifically scarred, so probably not their soul mate. They allowed themselves to relax, nearly breathing a sigh of relief until their eyes caught on a familiar scar marring his forearm as he reached towards the headset.

Oh, sure, he’d had the sins in the exact places as they’d had, they noticed when they first entered the cursed church, but they’d heard they carved people’s sins into them, so they still had reason to believe their soulmate was just a member, possibly a devoted one who copied the cult leader's every wound.

It was becoming more likely that this was their soulmate. Not just a member, but the leader of the cult. The Father. Why else would that symbol be the one the cult chose? 

(Later, once the blood had stopped rushing to their head, once they were as safe as they could be in a war zone, they’d wonder why his face wasn’t like theirs, but for now, hanging inside of a helicopter, they had very different priorities.)

 

He mumbled something they couldn’t quite catch once he had the headset in hand; they definitely heard Nancy praising the Father in response, though. Fucking Nancy. They'd thought the old lady sweet, if a little batty. Alex usually wasn't about punching people- especially the elderly- but if they got out of this alive, they'd consider it. 

Finally their probable-soulmate stepped out of the helicopter, allowing them to escape and run off into the woods, an unhinged cry of “Begin the Reaping!” echoing after them. 

The race to escape began- they caught up with Burke, hotwired a car, and drove like mad towards the nearest tunnel. 

Of course the cult had to have a blockade and fucking air support, a shot sending the truck tumbling into the Henbane. 

The last thing they remembered before passing out was hitting their head on a rather sizable rock and hoping their asshole soulmate felt it just as bad. 

\---

They came to zip tied to a bed, eyes opening gradually to take in the absolutely fascinating concrete ceiling above them. 

Their savior (captor?) ranted, blaming them for kicking the hornet's nest. Alex almost vocally disagreed- they rather thought popping someone's eyes out like they were cherries in a pie was more provocative than staging an arrest- but caught themself before they could rile the old man even more.

They agreed to whatever he said (honestly they were certain they had a concussion, they couldn't hold onto a thought) and was rewarded with a fresh set of clothes, a gun, and orders to get the damn Peggies off his island. 

Despite their chosen profession, Alex was not quick to turn to violence. Oh, they'd fight back of course, but they'd never instigated an altercation (barring grade school when the school bully called them Patches.). They were more suited for intrapersonal work, digging out confessions, providing comfort. They didn't know if they could handle killing- certainly couldn't be as blasé as Dutch, who spoke like they were pests to get rid of and not humans with a family.

Even as they wracked their brain, it seemed to be their only option. Their taser would only take down one, they only had a pair of handcuffs,and it wasn't like they had anywhere to lock them up. Incapacitating them was out, too; they'd just bleed out or get eaten by whatever wildlife hung around these parts.

A mercy kill it was, then. Headshots, if they could manage.  
They sighed, adjusted their holster, and got to work. 

\--  
By the time they were finished with their gruesome task- made lengthier by the frequent pauses they took to empty what little bile had accumulated in their stomach- the sun had begun to set. 

That didn't deter Dutch, though. When they radioed in confirmation the island was Peggieless, he simply gave them another task. 

This one required climbing.  
Climbing, they could do. Climbing didn't require killing, just their hands and feet and muscle memory from childhood escapades. 

In no time they reached the top, giving themself a moment to rest before activating the radio tower.

Dutch contacted them not long after, pity in his voice, as he indicated there was a video they'd need to see. 

And what a video it was. Normally they'd laugh at the production value, but humor escaped them as they watched the man proselytize. This had to be John Seed- the lawyer, former addict, and “Herald” of the cult.

As he walked down the aisle the camera panned and they gasped at the sight of their former partner, held at gunpoint, tears stained on her face. Worry sat like a stone in their gut and they barely breathed for the rest of the broadcast, watching him manhandle the lady who had been so kind to them. 

Soon, he let Hudson be and walked to the camera, reassuring the audience he'd come for them. 

Before the TV could cut off they paused the video to examine him more closely. Well dressed, almost normal if it weren't for the ideals he held. He wore an unbuttoned shirt-an indication the man considered himself seductive, or just lazy- under a vest and tailored jacket, far more fashionable than the beige sweaters the others tended to wear. Was he a vain, prideful man? (All their information on him pointed to yes.) 

A wound peaked out from his unbuttoned shirt, fresh from the looks of it. They'd bet their money on it being a sin- sloth, if their hunch was correct and they all scarred themselves in the same place (they refused to consider the alternative, how they had bled from the same place just last night. It was bad enough that their soulmate was the cult leader;they didn't think they could deal with much more.)

Eventually they turned the TV off, their observation done, and radioed Dutch. He basically reiterated what they needed to do- liberate the town, rescue Hudson, recruit some people, save the world. All part of a normal day for a rookie cop.  
They sighed, adjusted their borrowed clothes, and climbed back down the tower. 

It appeared they had work to do.  
\-----------

Their first step was Fall's End- couldn't rescue people without a place to put them, after all. It was all fairly standard, til the cult called in the planes and they had to man a huge gun to bring it down. 

Despite the aerial backup, the town was freed, and the citizens began the cleanup. They almost even had a moment to rest- was halfway through a beer, provided free of charge thanks to Mary May- when Dutch called, once again, to urge them down to Rae-Rae's farm. Alex borrowed a truck from a particularly grateful citizen, buckled in, and sped off down the road.

\----

Their heart sank as they approached the farm, the absence of sound them as they jumped out of the truck. Experience told them the likelihood of Rae-Rae and her husband living was low, especially considering the multitude of cultists milling around the site. They crouched behind a giant pumpkin, readied their guns, and considered their options. 

The cultists seemed to gather around the center- as long as they stayed hidden, moving through the house with as much stealth as possible they should be fine. No one had their eyes on the road,and they couldn't help but be grateful for the incompetence.

Their eyes landed on a cage- they squinted, trying to make anything out, but unfortunately the combination of the glare of the metal and distance made it impossible,even with their glasses correcting their vision. The contents of the cage- a dog, it seemed, by the barking and growling- certainly didn't want anything to do with the Peggies, and they wondered if they could use it somehow. 

They crept closer, gun at the ready. If they managed to shoot the lock, they could release the hound, but Alex wasn't too sure of their aim, especially with just a pistol. Maybe if they got right up to the cage, they could kick the lock in..It'd be loud enough to alert whoever was around, but they were sure they could deal with it or, if worst came to worst, outrun them.

Decision made, they snuck their way over to the cage. Alex took one final look around before taking a deep breath and kicking the cage.

As the dog inside broke loose, rushing towards the closest Peggy as if to exact revenge, they all seemed to notice the commotion and opened fire. 

Alex returned shot for shot, smacking down the dogs that ran at them with a shovel they found leaning against the house. Their hands barely shook this time as they forced themself into an almost trance like state and eventually neutralized the area.

With the Peggies gone, the silence rung in their ears like bells and they wandered over to where they had last seen the dog.

He was sitting near his former owners, head bowed as if in mourning. They reached out to pat his head, pulled the tag on his collar towards them- Boomer- it read, and glanced down at the bodies.

What kind of a person could condone the murder of an innocent family? And for what, land? A dog? What kind of a person could believe in a God who'd allow such things?

What did it say about them that they were the other half of their soul?

Boomer whined, as if sensing their dismal thoughts and trying to distract them.  
They sighed as they patted Boomer's head, wiping a blood spatter from above his eye before searching out the shovel they had left somewhere nearby. They couldn't do anything for them now besides a solemn burial.

 

Screw soulmates. They didn't need one. Alex had a dog.


End file.
